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User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/Twelve Stars of Taneth: Chapter 14
The climax and finale. Following this chapter is the epilogue. This is the longest part by far at 19 pages. There's probably significant errors since it's so long and it took me two hours to write half of it. Chapter 13 Chapter 14: The Way of the Sword Crimson raced after the Adversary, the hooves of his horse thudding into the dirt. The speed they were traveling at was ridiculous, impossible to achieve by any normal animal. The Adversary was just as fast. Whenever Crimson gained, it sped up on its steed forged from darkness, staying barely out of reach. It was a race the likes of which the world had never seen, the fastest cavalry charge there had been or would be. Dirt flew up in a cloud from Crimson’s assailant. The desert was an unending track for them to compete on, perfectly flat, and with little obstacles to speak off. It blurred by, a dull tan out of the corner of his eye, and the sky vicious above them, nearly black with storm clouds. The Adversary was drawing closer. Whistles’ speed was nearly unlimited, and try as it might, the Adversary couldn’t outride the former Keshik commander. “C’mon!” Crimson shouted, slapping the side of Whistles’ neck, sitting low in the saddle. The horse puffed, drawing a furious breath to urge himself, and then ducked it’s head, gaining more speed. They gained on the Adversary, and Crimson formed the Shehai in his hand, a perfect blade made of shimmering light. He raised it, to slash the Adversary across the back. Lightning struck the ground in front them. Whistles reared up, neighing in fear and anger, and the exceeding bright flash of light blinded them both. Crimson’s ears rung from the explosion, and as his horse galloped forward again, he could see the Adversary had already established a sizable lead. This is taking too long. With each passing moment, Crimson drew more of the Shehai into himself. He had to grip onto the source tightly, the magic was trying to slip away, like a writhing python. He was using too much of it, he could tell, and thusly it was becoming harder to continue to hang onto the Shehai. It was the only thing keeping him upright in the saddle, the only thing keeping his mind going. Without it, he’d drop. Whether unconscious or dead, he could only guess. Crimson needed to force a confrontation with the Adversary now, before he lost the one advantage he had. The answer was the Shehai. It had healed Shayera. Perhaps it could give Whistles a boost too? He pressed his hand to the horse’s flank, and willed the flow of energy into the creature. It was like he’d poured caffeine directly down Whistle’s throat. The horse took off like an arrow, legs working in manic unison to catch up with the Adversary. The Adversary glanced back over its shoulder, catching sight of Crimson approaching. Crimson held the sword out at his side, came within range, and swung upward in a sloping slash to catch the Adversary’s back. The Adversary pivoted on his horse, holding a shadowy sword in its hand. The weapon was smaller than what it normally used, likely so it could be used on horseback. Their blades collided in a blinding flash as light met dark. They began a brutal mounted melee as each tried to land a blow on the other, sword locking hilts and shoving off, hoping to knock their opponent of balance of catch them with an edge. Crimson jerked the reins, veering away and ahead of the Adversary, taking the lead. The Adversary took this as an escape, and began a pursuit, just as Crimson raised his sword. But instead of slashing backwards, he threw the Shehai into the running leg of the Adversary’s horse. It plummeted into the ground, face first, it’s front legs falling underneath it, and launching the Adversary of its back. Merely a construct of shadow, the horse dissipated into a black fog, leaving the Adversary sprawled on the ground. Crimson rode over to it, forming the Shehai again in his hand, but now a longer blade, so he could skewer the creature from horseback. The Adversary rose quickly however, turning to face Crimson, the Archer dismounted, slapping a hand on Whistle’s rear to send him off. “You don’t look too hurt, ‘spite the fact yer own horse just sat on you.” Crimson pointed out, appraising the Adversary. The Adversary’s sword returned it’s usual, unwieldly, large size. It did not respond. “This where you want to finish it?” Crimson asked, gesturing to the desert around them. “On some sand in the rain?” The creature considered him for a moment, then swiped its hand through air in a lazy gesture. Crimson stumbled as the ground began to blur underneath him—it was like someone had greased the ground and then shoved him across it. Abruptly, they were no longer in a desert, the location having changed in an instant. They were on a mountainside, a volcano in fact. A lively savannah extended out in all directions and Crimson could actually see the city of Taneth in the distance. He realized with some surprise they were on Corten Mont. But why bring them here? “One god already inhabits this place.” The Adversary said, answering Crimson’s unasked question. “The distance between Mundus and Aetherius is shorter here.” And inversely allowing the Adversary a more stable connection. It even picked the battleground to suit itself. It’s man-sized greatsword held at it’s side, the Adversary came towards Crimson, who took his stance, Spirit-Sword held in both hands, and prepared for what would probably be the fight of his life. ---- “Lady Aleera!” A messenger cried, bursting into her tent as she was being tended to by a few handmaidens, preparing for the day. “You need to come see this.” Aleera gave up being dressed in the gown, waving her servants aside, selected a riding dress inside, and was outside shortly, onto her horse, and across the warcamp. “What it is?” She asked Conner, who was already on the edge of the camp, the side that faced their enemy. “Hegathe and Sentinel. They’re mobilizing.” He pointed across the desert, to where hasty ranks were being formed, in response to Aleera’s own forces having begun forming up earlier. “To the front or the rear?” Conner frowned. “The front. Why?” “Because we sent the Keshik north to harass them, right? That’s a cavalry force of a several thousand just out there on their back flank. I sent orders last night for them to charge the camp in the morning.” Conner gawked at her. “Are you crazy? That’s suicide for them. You just condemned ten thousand men to their deaths! And our elite light cavalry, no less.” Aleera smiled tolerantly. “No, I didn’t. Because I also had Raine sneak into the Hegathe warcamp last night, retrieve some of King Riuh’s underclothes, and sneak them into the tent of King Lhotun. Inversely, some of his wife’s belongings were moved to King Riuh’s tent.” “So you, what, faked an affair?” Conner asked, unimpressed. “They’ll probably figure out it was your doing. Discovering it on the morning or night before a battle is too convenient. And even if they didn’t, they aren’t going to allow themselves lose a battle this large over a domestic spat. They’ll try to kill each other after they’re done trying to kill us.” “You’re right. But Lhotun’s in the position of power. He quite nearly the High King of Hammerfell, in all but name. Just the insinuation that his wife has been a little unfaithful is damaging to his reputation. And even if all the immediate parties know it’s not true, rumors will spread. He’s going to scramble to save face. It’s going to distract him. He’s going to ask himself who did it, who could gain from this, why they did it. He’s going to conduct an investigation. Is my wife really going around behind my back, who could’ve planted this? He’s going to be mistrustful of everyone, and distracted. That small incident of misplaced clothes is going to take up all night and all morning. He’s give his generals the order to attack, tell them to handle things, maybe participate directly himself, but his mind will be on what all this might mean. He won’t communicate with Riuh as effectively. But most of all, he’ll be distracted. With all of that going on, and the impending battle, he’s not going to bother to read that one scout report from his rear flank that says they might’ve spotted a mercenary cavalry force. The Keshik aren’t on a suicide run. They’re about to tear into a warcamp that has no defense mounted against them. We’re going to crush Lhotun on two sides.” “That’s a hell of a plan.” Conner said, and he sounded like he didn’t know whether to be in awe or call her insane. “It’ll work.” Aleera assured him. “You want to know the funny thing about pride, Conner? Everyone has it, they just don’t like admitting it.” ---- Crimson stepped aside as the Adversary’s blade came crashing down. He stepped in, and threw a hasty stab into the Adversary’s side. The point of his sword punched through, and Crimson withdrew it quickly, but damage repaired itself instantly, restoring the Adversary to it’s smooth shape, wisps of smoke rising off it. Crimson narrowed his eyes, thinking up a strategy, as the Adversary came at him in an overhanded sweep, it’s blade swinging one hundred sixty degrees through the air towards Crimson’s neck. He ducked, and looked up as the Adversary rolled it’s wrists and extended it’s elbows out to bring the blade downward towards him. Crimson pivoted sharply in the direction the strike and lifted the Shehai across his body to defend himself, pressing one hand on the safe edge of the blade to give it strength on both sides. The Adversary’s blow slammed him into the ground on his back, and the creature press the blade down hard, forcing the flat of Crimson’s sword against himself. Crushed between the Adversary’s weapon and the ground, the Shehai and his arm strength were the only things protecting him from death. Whenever I duel the Adversary, I lose. Time to stop thinking of this as a sword-fight. The Shehai disappated, and the Adversary smashed the blade down on Crimson’s chest, only to be stopped by cuirass formed out of golden light. The Archer gasped, both relieved and impressed his gambit had worked. “Game changer, big boy.” He warned the Adversary as little blade formed at the edge of his boot and he kicked it into the Adversary’s face. Entropy snarled, a sound of genuine pain that surprised Crimson, and backed away, as the Archer hopped to his feet. He brought his fists up, bands of light wrapped around his knuckles. “I promised ya ‘uh noogie. Don’t want to disappoint.” The Adversary side-stepped forward at ten o’clock, towards Crimson right, and lashed out with it’s weapon. Crimson cuffed the weapon aside, a light flashing as a Shehai conjured construction intercepted it. He turned his body, twisting his shoulders and hips, and mean left hook took the Adversary in the side of the face. The Adversary’s head snapped to the side, but it turned back, taking aggressive steps forward, and Crimson gave ground, stepping back in quick short strides, never lowering his hands or dropping his eyes. The sword flashed out in horizontal slice and Crimson’s left hand was up, the flat of his palm deflecting the blade, his right-hand diving in for a punch to the body. The Adversary’s sword dropped down, the point raking the ground, and it brought the weapon up with a quick flick of the wrist, blade angled to cleave into Crimson’s jaw. He lifted his boot, kicked the blade with the sole of his shoe, and then lashed out with a shin-kick into the Adversary’s shadowy thigh. It reeled back as a punch came crashing into the side of its neck. Crimson stepped inside it’s guard, spikes forming on his palms, and he rammed each into either side of the Adversary’s head. Digging his thumbs into where it’s eyes would be, the Adversary was knocked off balance by the onslaught, and he jerked it forwards, ramming an elbow into the place where he’d landed that punch a moment earlier. Flashes of light went off as each blow connected, the Shehai empowering his strikes. Crimson pulled the creature into a shoulder clench, pinning it’s head against his shoulder, using the spikes impaled there to gain full control. He used the Shehai to form armored plates on his knees, and kneed the Adversary twice in the stomach, before spinning it around. Pinning the thing by its chin against his shoulder, keeping the creature’s neck fully extended so it couldn’t twist free, he drove a knee into its spine. Then, he jerked the neck sharply in one direction to snap it, twisting the Adversary’s head around, a killing blow. For a human. Crimson was sent whirling backwards as the Adversary headbutted him directly in the face. His concentration broken, all his Shehai constructs collapsed. The Adversary’s head turned back into it’s proper place, and then it faced him. “I hope you did not assume I could be defeated so easily?” “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” The Adversary stalked towards him, completely uninjured, and Crimson began to retreat back, kicking loose stones beneath his feet. It gave him an idea. The Adversary put its foot down, and found a little ramp had materialized beneath it’s feet. It’s foot slid out from beneath it, awkwardly forcing the creature to a knee, and placing it’s sword hand on the ground to support itself. A light-formed shackle sprung up from the ground, trapping the Adversary’s wrist, as well as stopping it from raising its sword. Crimson smirked, creating a Spirit-Sword in his hand, so that he could off the Adversary. That tactic had proved surprisingly effective. He stepped forward, sword brought back to deliver a blow to the creature’s neck, and swung. He decapitated the Adversary cleanly. Its head dissipated to nothing, black fog rising towards the sky, and the body began to slump. Crimson grinned broadly as he long his longtime foe was defeated. Finally. The headless Adversary’s free hand shot out, seizing Crimson around the throat. It broke free of the shackle on its, the Shehai breaking with a sound like shattering glass, and rose. It easily lifted Crimson from the ground with that one hand around his throat, holding him high in the air. Crimson gasped, eyes bulging, as he clawed at Entropy’s hand to no avail. It was as tight as a vise, and as smooth as obsidian. “You’re impossibly arrogant.” The Adversary said, lifting it’s sword to plunge the blade through Crimson. “Man cannot kill a god.” The loose rocks shifted beneath their feet and, suddenly, gave away beneath their combined weight. Crimson was free as the pair of the fell through open air, into darkness. Crimson fell himself slam into the side of a rock wall, then a few more on the way down, and he landed finally in one painful heap on a cold stone surface. Crimson lifted his head, sprawled on the ground as he was, and looked up. Thin beams of light shown down, blocked by rock outcroppings, from the hole they had fallen through. They’d opened a steam vent, Crimson knew, and were now inside the volcano. Crimson turned his head back and forth in the darkness. He could see in his immediate area, the beams provided some light, but everything beyond that was on otherworldly, all consuming, darkness. Crimson pushed off the ground, and hissed as he felt a sudden pain in his side. He glanced down, checking for wounds. Sure enough, there was a moderately deep slice along his hip. The Adversary’s blade had caught him on the way down, or maybe one of those rocks he’d hit on the way down had been jagged. Crimson rose unsteadily, willing more of the Shehai’s vast stream to him. He had been drawing too much of it, more than any person was supposed to hold. It was burning him out, like a candle carrying a flame for too long. He took a step forward, the pain still shook him, jarring from his step. He sucked more of the Shehai in, now like a glass filled with too much liquid, threatening to teeter and spill. But it chased away the pain. Crimson stepped into the dark, and created a light from himself, a hoovering, glowing ball that hung in front of him, guiding his way. The floor of the vent was smooth, the edges wore out by hundreds of years’ worth of steam passing through here. It was cool, and damp. Steam had passed through recently, but not recently enough for the condensation it left to still be hot. That might mean it’d expel steam too. Crimson had no desire to be boiled alive, so he could only count on there being some warning before it happened, so that he could use the Shehai to protect himself in such an event. The Adversary was here too, someone in the dark. Maybe it’d been deposited elsewhere. Or perhaps it was following him from where he couldn’t see, tracking his movements. The thought was unsettling. The air grew warmer, and the vent wider. He was nearing the center of the volcano. They had been near the top, so that wasn’t surprising, and he was high up enough above the lava that the heat wouldn’t fry him. Crimson had little intention of sticking around though, it’d still be hot enough to tire him out quickly, he only hoped there was some way to get to the surface from the center. He came around a bend, and spotted light coming down the hall. Banishing his own guide, Crimson hurried towards it, the vent’s walls and ceiling getting farther apart, until they were a gaping hole that led out into the volcano’s center. He was on a wide ledge, looking down over the lava pit. Gray light from the stormy sky shown down. An orange hue from the lava was cast all over the black stone. Crimson came to the ledge’s edge and peered down, the rising heat beating at his face despite the distance between him and the lava. He wasn’t worried about the lava rising. Corten Mont had erupted recently, only forty years ago, and so it wouldn’t do so again for some time. Footsteps. Crimson whirled to face the Adversary, having come out of the steam vent behind Crimson. So it’d been deposited in a side-cave maybe. It didn’t matter. The ledge was thirty paces wide, fifteen long. Not large enough for comfort. Any fall was a straight spill into a horrible smoldering death. “There is something familiar about this.” The Adversary noted, before it came at him. Crimson leapt into action, planting his feet and brace his knees, and then open his arms, palms held outwards. Grappling hooks formed, latching into the stone above the steam vent’s opening, and sinking deep. Chains grew from them, and launched back towards Crimson, who caught an equal amount of both in each hand. The Adversary paused to look back, just in time to watch Crimson tug with Shehai-enhanced strength. The grappling hooks pulled a large chunk of stone lose which came crashed down on the Adversary. The impact of such heavy stone made the ledge shake, and Crimson planted his feet for fear of stumbling off. The creature didn’t even flinch. It swung upwards with excellent timing, it’s sword cleaving the stone in two perfect halves, which landed on either side of it. Crimson internally cursed at his plan’s failure and how impressive that was. The Adversary stepped behind one of the blocks of stone, raised it’s leg, and kicked the stone at him. Crimson dove aside as the stone came screeching across the floor, and then shot over the edge. The Adversary moved to the other stone and kicked it at him with the same incredibly force. Crimson wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time, given he’d just thrown himself to the ground. He wrapped himself in the Shehai, golden light infusing his body, and shoved off the ground in one epic push-up. The stone passed beneath him, just as he reached the peak of his push-up, barely an inch between his palms and the block’s surface, before he came crashing back to the ground the stone went speeding over the side. Crimson was up again, engaging the Adversary as it came at him head on. Two sword swipes forced him back, and a third sent Crimson stumbling to avoid losing a leg. Stumbling back towards the edge. Crimson risked a glance over his shoulder to see there was five feet between him and death, and turned back just in time to watch the Adversary to bring the sword down in a vertical stroke to cleave him right down the middle. The Shehai surrounded his hands and Crimson did the only thing he could do—he clapped. The sound of it echoed throughout the room as the Archer trapped the flat of the shadowy blade between his two palms. The Adversary forced its weight behind the blade, forcing it forwards, and Crimson onto his heels. Crimson took the Adversary’s own force, and used it to fall onto his back, pulling the Adversary forward by it’s sword as he did so. He struck out with both feet into Entropy’s ankles, knocking it off balance and then slammed his feet upwards into its stomach area. He shoved upward, both with his arms on the blade and with his feet on the Adversary’s abdomen, and launched it over the side. It sailed past his head and over the ledge. Crimson rolled onto his stomach, and peered over the edge, but didn’t see it land like a stone into the lava below. Crimson frowned, unsure whether to be relieved or wary at seeing his enemy gone. Standing, Crimson looked up the side of the volcano. There was no discernible path, but Crimson didn’t need one. He created climbing spikes on his boots and a pair of them in his hands, then went to work scaling the wall. It was sweaty, tiring work, and he had to scramble over the lip of the volcano. Where was Diagna?, Crimson wondered. The old spirit had said he was dying, but surely he hadn’t died this fast. Maybe— Crimson spun in time to see his own shadow stand up and take the shape of the Adversary. It had it’s sword already. It was too close for Crimson to dodge. The blade seared through his left arm, shredding muscle, and sinew, probably nearly severing the limb. Crimson hit the ground, his failed evasion having been just enough to save his life. He hurried to rise to his feet, but his left arm wouldn’t respond. The fingers at the end didn’t twitch. The Adversary was above him. Impassive, unmovable, unstoppable. It really was death made incarnate. It knew it had one. It didn’t bother to kill him just yet. The Shehai was slipping away. He drawn too much to hold onto, and his pain and weakness were forcing it out. He wasn’t empty anymore, there were too many thoughts filling his mind. As each drop of the power vanished, Crimson’s own frailty hit him harder and harder. He had failed. He was going to die now, and he hadn’t avenged Jasmin. Tidon’s death, Juliette’s death, all those who had died on his watch. It had all been for nothing. The Adversary seemed to be waiting for something. Crimson tried to find solace in the Shehai, that draining, but vast power. A minute ago he’d held so much of it, enough that he’d felt he could accomplish anything. Now he felt like a poor man who’d just realized his last Septim won’t buy a slice of bread. He reached into the Shehai, what little of it he had left. It was Complexity. It had the answers to all the questions. Crimson let go of himself, allowing the emptiness to come in his final moments, and plunged into the Shehai. And punched through to somewhere else, the place the Shehai came from. And it did have answers. He felt guilt for allowing so many deaths. But they weren’t his fault. Crimson had to acknowledge some things were outside his control, that he couldn’t prevent every evil he saw, only do what was in his power. He avoided his responsibility because of this guilt. Not because he was inherently lazy or didn’t like work, but because if he accepted responsibility then it meant, when things got bad, it was his burden to bare. He had to let them go, his list of names, the body count he’d racked up. He had to let them go because it was the right thing to do. That didn’t compute with Crimson. He needed the guilt, to know he was still morally righteous. No one was supposed to die for him, only he was allowed to. In the flow of the Shehai, a voice reached him. Feminine, calming, and familiar—it’s sound he knew better than his own heartbeat. You need to let us go. She told him. Let us be heroes too. And then it made sense. Crimson came back into his own body in a rush, dragging as much of the Shehai with him as he could. It was like grabbing a burning log with your bare hands, and then trying to drop said log down your shirt without flinching. The power filled him, taking him over. It was too much. Enough to burn him out completely. But that’s what Crimson wanted. The Adversary recoiled in shock as the Archer began to rise to his feet, glowing like someone had pulled the sun down to Nirn. ---- The two armies came crashing together in a deafening roar of screams and metal clanging against metal. Battle lines dozens of rows deep and hundreds of men long stretched far on either side of Aleera. From where she was, on horseback far behind the front line, not even that close to the rear of the army, it looked like an incomprehensible mess and was loud from where she was standing. Up close it was probably impossible to hear a sound. Every once and a while volleys of arrows took to the side, blocking out the sun, and then descended on their targets. Parts of the ground had already turned a bright red, as the dry sand greedily gulped up any blood spilled on it. The battle was looking to be a stay mate, each side giving as good as they got. But then, a horn rang out. It thrummed across the field, a tremendous noise all heard. It came from the Hegathe-Sentinel war camp, a warning. The Keshik had arrived. Aleera got to watch the spectacle of several thousand riders in red, rise over a dune and then descend on the camp. Arrows flew forth from them first, one from each rider, raining down on the surprised rear flank, where the officers and reserve troops currently had the misfortune to be. Then the Keshik tossed their bows aside, drew cavalry swords, and were tearing through the army, targeting its commanders. It was like watching a building collapse. The army baring Lhotun’s and Riuh’s colours began to fold in on itself, desperately trying to shore up defenses, but only boxed themselves in, the combined forces of Taneth and its allies wrapping around them like a python. The screams were very one-sided now. And just like that, Aleera had won. She saw it clearly now, what she’d done. She’d routed the enemy completely, in a desperate gamble that had by some miracle paid off. She was a military great, by just making a few risky decisions. Is that all it took, to become this? No inner strength or great power, just the smarts to know what call to make? She could eclipse her father. Be something greater than he ever had been. The Keshik and beloved prince of Taneth were just a drop in the eye to the leader of the combined Hammerfell armed forces and lord of all it’s kings. Aleera now had access to everything she’d ever wanted. Recognition for all her hard work, the power and status her birthright demanded. It was all here, won at the price of the lives of soldiers, and she’d earned it for herself. But she’d didn’t feel proud. Nor achieved. She felt sick. All Aleera wanted was what was best for her people, for her country. She had wanted to be in power because she believed she knew what was best, that she could lead people better than others. And this was her leading better? Being goaded into a war with Lhotun and sending thousands to her deaths? Is that who she was? Some feudal lord who say his serfs as nothing more than numbers on page, creatures that filled his coffers and gave him right to rule? That wasn’t what Aleera believed in. That wasn’t what her mother believed in. Or her father. Equality. No one was worth more than anyone else. Men died on the field in front of her, by the scores. Perhaps a hundred alone in the last minute. “Sound the retreat.” She told Conner. The young general looked at her, agape. “What? We’re winning! This is going in history books, Aleera. One of the biggest wars ever fought, and it’s ended in on battle.” “Sound the retreat.” She repeated, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach. “But why—“ “Don’t question me.” She snarled at him. “Just do it.” Conner stared at her a moment longer, before he shook his head, and signaled to their own drummers and horns. “Sound the retreat!” Horns sounded on the Taneth side, the mallets pounded drums. Immediately the Taneth forces began to pull back, leaving behind the bodies of the scattered on the field in piles that reached several feet high. The Keshik had made it through the Hegathe lines by now, and did not turn back for a second charge. “Alright, we’ve retreated. Now they’re going to regroup and—“ Aleera ignored him, digging her heels into her horse’s sides, and whipping the reins. The animal took off at a gallop, going straight up the middle of the ranks in front of her, soldiers stepped aside to allow her passage, those who weren’t quick enough being urged on by the shouting of their sergeants. Up the rows of soldiers she traveled, each looking up at her in a mix of confusion and awe. The more towards the front she got, the more confused they looked, delirious from the violence of battle. The more wounded and bloody they got too. She broke through the front line-her front line-out into where men had been dying mere moments before. The enemy forces were incredibly close. It wasn’t true, but Aleera felt she could spit to them. She was certainly, however, within bow range. Aleera wasn’t a general, nor she wasn’t some tactical genius. She wasn’t a queen, or a ruler of any kind. Yet in Taneth, she’d been in control. Because you didn’t earn power by force, but earned it in the hearts and minds of men. “Brave warriors of Sentinel and Hegathe!” She shouted at them, raising her voice as much as possible, but it was unlikely she was heard past the first few lines. Perhaps the messengers there would be kind and repeat what she was saying down the ranks. “I am Aleera al Din! You know me because I lead the army that has killed your brothers-in-arms! You know me because it’s said I asked for this war! But, believe it or not, I’m not your enemy! King Lhotun would tell you otherwise! He would tell you I desire war among Hammerfell! You are all good, loyal men, and I do not insult your liege. But he misunderstands me! He thinks the sacking of Gilane was on my orders, when the opposite was true. And the opposite can be nothing but true! All I have ever wanted for the people of Hammerfell is greatness! So instead of asking you to surrender, or warn you that this battle is not in your favor, or demand you join or die, I instead implore you to return home! Why kill your brother Redguards in some no-name desert when your homes are at risk? When your families sit unprotected? We are not your enemy, because your war is not with us! It never has been and it never will be! I only seek to defend my people and family as vehemently as you would defend yours! So don’t throw your lives away in this pointless war, in this war that will not go into history books, that will not go down into legend as something glorious. Put them to useful meaningfully with the people that matter. Don’t die for the sake of Aleera al Din, some upstart invader, live for yourselves! I have pulled my men back, they will not pursue you! Please, heed my words!” The army had moved and shifted as she spoke, which had spurred, Aleera on, emboldening her. But now she saw what they’d been doing, as they took shape in front of her. “Archers, ready!” Commanders across the ranks cried, and arrows were lain on bowstrings. Aleera grimaced. It seemed Conner had been right, the insufferable ass. And her plan had failed miserably. She probably should’ve just let the battle take it’s course. What had she been thinking, riding out front like this, as if she was in a storybook? Probably caught up in her own ego. Pride was a funny thing. “Archers, draw!” The second cry came up. Bows were raised to the sky, strings pulled back. And then, in the distance, the top of Corten Mont exploded in a burst of light. It was like a second sun had settled on Nirn, and its light washed across the desert, casting a white sheen to everything and creating long shadows. It chased away the storm clouds that had gathered tightly overhead, and casting long shadows. Not head hadn’t been turned by it, and all shielded their eyes as they watched the light grow brighter. It was beautiful, the mountaintop alight with its own dying star. The most beautiful thing Aleera had probably ever seen. As that immense, blinding light burst into existence, Aleera heard the twang of a thousand bows being released in surprise, launching deadly missiles into the sky. ---- The Adversary lunged forward, sword extended, and was launched backwards as a wave of energy slammed into it. Crimson had opened the floodgates, the Shehai pouring through him into the world unrestricted. He was a source for it in the most basic definition of the word. The power coursing through Crimson was immense. Possibilities spread before him like the strands of a spider-web, interconnected and overarching. He could remake the world in his image, move mountains with a thought, create new life. He saw how everything began, how it came to be, and how it would end. All the world’s secret lay bare at his fingertips. Nothing was too big. In a time-span less than a blink of the eye Crimson held creation itself, experiencing something no other person ever would. For one glorious moment, he was God. And then it was all ripped away as the Shehai drained out of him, squeezed back to where it came from in a moment as quick as the last. Crimson stood on unsteady knees, out of breath, speechless. The Shehai was gone from him. He’d never use it again—he’d burned himself out, destroyed his own connection to the Spirit-Sword permanently by over using it. He wanted to curl up in a ball and sob uncontrollably. It was like he’d intentionally blinded himself, the loss was so profound. The Adversary rammed its sword through his chest. Entropy threw its weight behind the blade, driving the weapon up to its hilt, the length of the blade sticking out his back, the shadowy blade coating in a fine sheen of red and gore. Crimson gasped, his eyes focusing to settle on his killer. It withdrew the blade with one clean stroke, turning its body away to do so, and Crimson collapsed to his knees, everything below his chest suddenly losing feeling. It stood over him, obvious triumph in its pose. “I have defeated you in this medium.” Crimson response was a hacking laugh. “Wrong.” He spat, bloody phlegm flying onto the rocks. “You didn’t. And ya never will.” The Adversary looked down at him. “Gave up the Shehai.” Crimson weezed, slouching onto his crippled, unfeeling legs. “You didn’t kill… a source of Complexity… you killed a nobody. Meaning you failed. I beat you, permanently. So it’s back to the void. No world domination for you today, buster.” “You agreed there would be no tricks.” The Adversary protested. Confusion seeped into its inflectionless voice. It couldn’t understand that it was losing--the impossible had happened. Mortals did not defeat immortal, infinite beings. Crimson had dented the ego of half the universe. “I lied. I do that. A lot.” “How…” the Adversary paused unable to put its turmoil into words, “…underhanded of you.” Crimson grinned, showing off bloody teeth. “I never did win by playin’ fair.” The Adversary faded away, an image swept off by the wind. Crimson was left kneeling on the mountain side of Corten Mont, alone, kneeling, blood pooling in his lungs, running down his front. He couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything from the chest down. There was no pain, his brain had shut all of that off, a survival measure, but futile. He wouldn’t be getting out of this one. ---- Aleera urged her horse into a gallop again, straight for the front line of the army. The close soldiers turned in surprise, and watching as the woman armored only by her riding gown charged through a hail of arrows. And survived. Aleera jerked the reins sharply, pulling her horse to a stop, as the arrows rained down on where she’d been standing, and some of her forces, who raised shields to protect themselves. “Look!” She shouted at the men of Hegathe and Sentinel. “Look there!” She jabbed a finger at the source of light. “That is Corten Mont, the mountain upon which Diagna lives! The avatar of Hoonding in the flesh! My father has spoken with him! I ''have spoken with him. The Make-Way god has no patience for fights among his chosen race. Look at that beacon! Do you perceive that to be approval for this battle? Do you think the gods bless this slaughter of a whole generation of our people? There is a dream that my family had. A dream my father had when he wrote the treaties that are responsible for this war. They promised peace among nations. Peace for a hundred generations. And look—we start a war while we’re barely into the next! Is that the legacy you want to leave for your children? Destroyers of peace? Look at that mountaintop—I speak to you now, Lhotun of Sentinel—look at that mountain top where the god of everything we honor lives and tell your men that you will have them die for your own vanity while he watches. And Diagna may not hold you accountable, Lhotun, but these brave men who serve you will, and you can be damn sure I will too!” There was restlessness in the ranks. Here was this woman, who stopped a sure victory to save their lives, who rode to the front of a battle with no guard, armor, or weapons to give a speech, who came through a hail of arrows unscathed, and now was demanding their own king grant them their lives. The Redguards, who were an honorable folk, had sacred warrior traditions, and every one of those traditions that they practiced told them Aleera was a noble leader worth serving. At the moment, she even appeared down right saintly. Then, flags came up in the rear of Lhotun’s and Riuh’s armies. Signal flags. And signal was retreat. “Pull back!” The line sergeants began to scream. “Pull back!” Several of the men in the front line had to be hit on clubbed to follow the order. They were too busy staring at her. Aleera fought the swelling pride in her chest. She turned he horse back towards her own forces, who had begun to burst into rancorous noise, hooting, shouting, and cheering. For her. For Aleera. And, she realized, what she’d just done was going to make her a hell of a lot more of a legend than if she’d just beat Lhotun by stealing someone’s underwear. ---- ''This is a good death. Crimson decided. He’d defeated his enemy, avenged his daughter and Ishien, had made peace with himself, the kingdom was left in the capable hands of his children. He had regrets, yes, but no loose ends. Not how I thought I’d go. Crimson idly thought, slumping onto his side, into a more comfortable position on the loose rocks. Wanted to get fat and old, die in a bed, surrounded by a bunch of young people who got my looks. Death in combat is a young man’s dream. Old folk like me just want to squeeze out what they got left and then go peacefully. Juliette was waiting for him. Two years apart from her had been long enough. His arms and legs felt cold. Darkness was coming, taking over his vision, and Crimson didn’t fight it. He leaned back on the rocks, exhaling a final breath. He shut his eyes, and drifted off into the afterlife. The toe of a boot nudged him in the face. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easily, did you?” By his tone, the speaker was annoyed. Crimson peeked an eye open. Diagna, the spirit of Corten Mont, in the form of a middle-aged Redguard man dressed in an enveloping red robe, stood over Crimson, frowning. “I’m dying.” Crimson pointed out, wondering if Diagna was going to nag Crimson even in his last moments. And here he’d been hoping for a minute’s worth of quiet reflection before death. “Dying, not dead.” “I’m hoping that’ll change.” Crimson smiled politely, aggressively shutting his eye. Diagna jabbed the Archer’s cheekbone with his toe again, and Crimson’s eyes shot open. “Seriously, can’t you just let me bleed out in comfort?” “Nope, sorry.” “What do you want then?” “To keep you alive.” “Oh? Is this the part where you whisk me off in my injured state before I die, so I can come again in my people’s greatest time of need?” “Nothing so melodramatic. You’ve had a tough go of things, I’ll admit, and I feel a bit guilty for not being able to do more. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t bleed out on my nice, clean mountainside.” “Are ya saying there’s an alternative?” Crimson perked up. “I mean, a noble death’s great and all, but I’d rather not die.” Diagna snorted, “Wouldn’t we all?” The avatar of Hoonding gave a nod. “Aye, I can fix you. Normally wouldn’t, but I think you’ve earned it. You did just beat pure evil in a slugging match, after all.” Diagna crouched over Crimson, a touched two fingers to the man’s shoulder. Immediately, warmth suffused the Archer, causing him to gasp as the feeling washed over him, a feeling like being thrust in front of a warm fire after walking through a blizzard. The heat rushed over him, and then Diagna withdrew the hand and it was gone. Crimson frowned, sitting up, which he did easily enough, and glanced down. His leather jerkin was still torn, his former uniform in tatters, but the hole in his chest was gone as where his other wounds. “How do you feel?” Diagna asked. “Old.” They cracked a smile at each other. Crimson considered himself again, then looked up to Diagna. “Mind helping me with something?” After a short trek, made easy by Diagna, they came to the base of the mountain, and Diagna give Crimson a shovel to use on the Archer’s request. A hole was dug, and Crimson stripped down and out of his tattered uniform, tossing it into the hole, then dressed in fresh shirt, shoes, and trousers, again provided by Diagna. Crimson held his leather-steel-combination mask in his hands, considering it. “You know why I started the whole Crimson Archer gig, Diagna?” “I assume to protect people. Or, failing that, make money.” Crimson nodded. “There were riots in Taneth, peasants all riled up and going after nobles. My father couldn’t get directly involved, but I felt I had to protect everyone, keeping them from killing each other. And I was good at it, and it made me happy, right up until I had to kill someone to do it. That’s what made me want to give it up the first time, I felt I had failed. Then I found Whistles and created the Keshik. I had purpose again, the Crimson Archer stood as a symbol of what a leader could be, instead of a peacekeeper. “And then the Keshik fractured when some of them tried to kill me, so I went back to Taneth and thought as both a leader and peacekeeper the Crimson Archer could make a good king, and I was partially right. And it failed there too, a few times as well. But now I realized what I was doing wrong. I separated me and Crimson, Sahir and I. The prince and the mercenary were two different people, in my mind, so I kept them apart. I didn’t consider that what made me seem so damned special to everyone was that I could function as combination of both, and never compromise myself. I always saw myself as the prince pretending to be Crimson, or as Crimson at heart but forced to play at royalty. It was everyone else who saw me for who I really am, a mix of both. Isn’t that funny? I felt like I was faking it the whole time, but I wasn’t.” Diagna said nothing, merely gave Crimson a speculative look. “I don’t think I need the Crimson Archer anymore. Maybe I never did. He was a mask that I wore so I could be myself and people wouldn’t judge me for being Prince Sahir.” “What do you mean?” “That there’s no difference between them, no need to wear the outfit so I can keep them apart. I can be both, at once. Both mercenary and king, leader and peacekeeper. I think I just got to accept I’m me and stop trying to label myself.” He tossed the mask into the ditch, where the rest of his tattered uniform lay. He hadn’t had his cloak for a while now, it’d been Tidon’s burial shroud. “There doesn’t have to be a Crimson Archer anymore, because now I’m someone better.” He pulled the shovel from where he stuck it blade first in the earth, and started to refill the hole. “Could ya work some magic?” He gestured to the head of the grave. A tombstone was there. It was massive, four feet tall, three across, and a foot thick, composed solidly of rust-coloured granite, immovable. It would be there for the next few centuries, at least. The tombstone’s blank side was to the mountain, it’s face to the open savannah beyond. Deeply engraved on it were three simple words in large block letters. THE CRIMSON ARCHER “Is that good?” Diagna asked. “I like it, it works. After all, I would’ve died on this mountain if not for you. What Crimson was, sacrificing himself for others, taking the guilt unto himself, I gave that up to defeat the Adversary. That part of my life is done. ‘Sides, maybe I turn it into a tourist attraction, make some money off it. Where the Crimson Archer died fighting a fricking god. It’ll make me a bonified legend, it will.” “You’ll head back to Taneth now?” Crimson nodded. “I want to check in on Aleera and the others, see how they’re getting on. From there… who knows.” “They’ll need you, Crimson. Not as ruler, but as an advisor and a father. Your experience is what you have to offer them. You were ready to die up there, meaning you were willing to give them up. Remember that.” Crimson frowned, but nodded again. He shrilly whistled, and in an instant Whistles was there in a blur of speed. Crimson swung up into the saddle. “Am I ever going to see ya again?” He asked Diagna, orienting the horse in the direction of Taneth. “I hope not.” Diagna replied, and Crimson could hear the smile in his voice. “That would mean you needed something.” “Home, boy.” He told the stallion, slapping its side. “Let’s go home.” Crimson glanced back to get one last look of Diagna, but he was already gone. ---- Crimson had to return to Santaki first, to turn Shayera under Jeremias’ care, and told the butler to take them both back to Taneth by carriage. He was stopped on his way back to Taneth, when he arrived at warcamp baring the sigils of his house. At first, the sentries had tried to stop him, but when they’d realized who he was, he’d been brought to Aleera’s tent right away. He’d had to return to Santaki first, to turn Shayera under Jeremias’ care, and told them both to take the carriage back hoe. Their greeting was awkward. “Dad.” “Aleera.” Silence. “You’ve been doing well since you kicked me out.” He noted. “Saved the province, I see. And the city. And the army.” “Only the usual.” “Oh ya already got modesty down pat too. That’s nice.” He scratched his head. “I’m sorry.” Aleera said, surprising Crimson. “What I did, that was… it was unfair of me. Tidon’d just died, and I hadn’t been thinking straight. I shouldn’t’ve done that to you.” Crimson looked at her strangely a moment, before he abruptly laughed. “Aleera. What you did here—I couldn’t’ve done that. You were right. You weren’t nice about it, but you were right. The way I see it, it’s good you got me out of there. I can get over some hurt feelings, no problem. I had my own thing to deal with too.” “Oh?” She noticed his change of clothes, expecting a story. “Found my shoes.” Crimson told her, nodding sagely, pointing to his feet. “The good ones.” Aleera cocked and eyebrow, glancing down. “Ah. Can’t lose those.” ---- The pair of them returned to Taneth ahead of the army, escorted by just Aleera’s personal guard. It was good this way, so they could get ahead of the news of the victory, and make preparations for a celebration. On their way back to the castle, Crimson saw something the infuriated him. “Did you do this?!” He demanded of Aleera, pointing at the ruins of the Hall of Virtues. Or rather, lack of ruins. They had been cleaned up. Workers were going about the empty plot, laying out foundations for a new structure. “No! Hakim, must’ve—“ Crimson was off to the palace at full gallop on Whistles before she could finish. He stormed into the throne room with dramatic fashion, Aleera not too far behind. “Hakim!” Crimson barked, interrupting the king in a discussion with some minister. Both turned towards him, surprised. He stormed right up to his son, and seized him by the front of his shirt. “Whoa, dad, calm down what’s—“ “The Hall of Virtues.” Crimson growled. “I ordered it not be touched. But low and behold, both Aleera and I go. We come back, and you’re building something in it’s place. What exactly do you think you’re doing?” “Rebuilding it.” Hakim answered, pulling Crimson’s hand off him and straightening his shirt. “What?” “Look, I know I’m not a very good king. I figured out early on it didn’t suit me, so when Aleera took charge, I didn’t really argue. What I don’t want is for people to dismiss me. I don’t want to be remembered as the guy who didn’t do everything while his sister ruled for him. I remembered how depressed you were when it burned down, and I think Taneth needs the Hall back, so I gave orders to rebuild it. I might not be remembered for much, but at least I’ll be remembered as the king who did something.” Hakim considered Crimson’s slowly relaxing expression for a moment. “You’re not mad?” Crimson blinked and then, in a flurry of movement, reached out, wrapped his arms around Hakim, and pulled the king into a tight hug. Hakim hesitantly returned it, taken by surprise. Crimson released him as Aleera entered, gave his a little pat on the shoulder, and then turned to his daughter. “You want to fill in Hakim on what happened?” Crimson offered. She opened her mouth, but Hakim forestalled her with a hand. “I already know. And I’m going to do something I should’ve done a long time ago.” He pulled the crown off his head, and extended it towards Aleera. She stared at it blankly. “I want you to have it.” Hakim said. “You’re already queen in all but name.” “Why?” Aleera asked, looking up. “Rebuilding the tower is enough for me. I’m not really suited for the king thing, I’d rather spend time with Yahna and the kids. This all… it isn’t me. But it is you, Aleera. It sure as hell is you.” “Do you have it already set up? Coronation, transfer of powers?” Hakim gestured at the minister standing with them. “That’s what this was. I was just finishing it up. I already made you queen on paper, only the ceremony is left.” Aleera took the crown with reverent hands, and walked off in a daze. Crimson was grinning widely, and set a hand on Hakim’s shoulder. “You did good.” The now ex-king smiled back shyly. “You think so?” “Yeah, it was the right call: you were a pretty shit king. Proud about the tower thing though." He clapped Hakim on the back, and then went off to a secluded balcony on the side of the throne room. The sky was clear and blue, a gull crying somewhere over head. The balcony looked out over the savannah beyond the city walls, towards Corten Mont. It also looked down at Taneth, with its many doomed buildings and narrow streets. Somewhere out there on the savannah, was monument dedicated to Juiette Tharn. Crimson tried to guess which hill it was on, but couldn’t. It had been Juliette’s voice he’d heard when he’d been in the Shehai, he was certain. It felt fulfilling to know she still just was ''and always would ''be. It filled some hole that had been empty for so long. It had given him what he’d yearned for—closure. So much of his tale had been left unfinished. Crimson was satisfied, he realized, for the first time in a while. The Archer grinned at his city, and the land surrounding it. “It’s a good time to be alive.” And he meant it. END OF PART 14 Epilogue Category:Blog posts Category:Stories Category:Twelve Stars of Taneth